


Stormtrooper Boy

by LuxaLucifer



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, a picnic, its cute ok let me live
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-05
Updated: 2016-02-05
Packaged: 2018-05-18 09:11:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,365
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5920555
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LuxaLucifer/pseuds/LuxaLucifer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"That's the difference between us and the First Order, though," he replies. "I bet they never stopped and let their stormtroopers have a picnic, did they? But we can."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stormtrooper Boy

**Author's Note:**

> Took me forever to finish and forever to post, but finally here we are! Hope you like it. Thanks to grannyrag on tumblr for betaing it.

Poe barrels through the base with two blankets around his shoulders and so much food packed into in his arms that it can’t be rightly called a lunch box; more of a consumption crate. He catches several bemused looks from people working out of the corner of his eyes but he can’t bring himself to care. They’re rebel soldiers, they need the laugh.

It was the General who gave him permission for this, and her eyes crinkle with amusement as he passes her in the hall.

“Have fun for me,” she says, giving him a small wave and stepping aside while the crate of food threatened to lurch out of his grip.

“Will do!” he says, unable to suppress a grin.

The grin turns nervous as he approaches the door he’s looking for. Special room for a special guy. Poe thinks the General once told him that usually this room is kept for diplomats, but since the Republic went down, there’s been no one to occupy it except an ex-stormtrooper with a penchant for making his heart skip a beat of two, a feeling he’s only ever gotten when flying at the highest speeds. He’s always wanted to know what that exhilaration would feel like with both feet on the ground, being able to see every detail in the oversaturated backdrop that he never seems to slows down long enough to properly appreciate the way he does the controls on a proper ship.

He realizes he doesn’t have the hands to knock with the crate in his arms, so he knocks his shoulder against the door with increasing amounts of urgency until it bursts open and he falls through, barely managing to gain his balance back before the food spills out of his arms.

“What’s this?” says Finn, standing there in his Resistance issued clothes, somehow making the fairly drab cloth look good on him. Poe remembers a girl telling him the same thing once, that he made the grays pop or something. He doesn’t remember much about that, only that he’d exchanged the grays for bright orange the next week and never saw her again. This is, he realizes, the first time he’s thought of her all this time.

He forgets again when he refocuses on Finn, unaware of the lip biting that happens when he catches sight of him.

“You could answer me sometime,” says Finn, letting him into the room. Poe sets down the crate, his grin returning to its proper spot.

There’s not an item in this diplomat’s room that belongs to Finn, Poe realizes as he looks around. The interior is more richly decorated than any normal soldier’s quarters, and he wonders if that’s why the General assigned Finn here, because she knew Finn didn’t have anything but the clothes on his back and a lifetime of monotonous memories at his side. Even if the garish colors of the room are impersonal, there’s something to fill the space.

“You’re off for the day, right?”

He knows the answer to this. He spent hours begging people to cover their shifts, to pick up the slack their absence for a day would leave. He plays it casual though, leaning against the wall of Finn’s room and crossing his arms.

Finn stares at him. “You ever planning to answer me or what?”

“Are you?”

“Yeah, I’m free today.”

“So am I,” says Poe. “What a coincidence, right? So I was thinking we could take this crate of food and these blankets and go outside. Have you been outside the base yet? The land out there is really beautiful and there’s nothing too dangerous for miles, we set down here because of it.”

He shifts, uncertain what to do with himself now that he’s not carrying that crate. “Does that answer your question?” he adds.

Finn’s expression changes. “You did all this for me? Why?”

Because he wants to push Finn back against that wall and make him forget about the bad wall decorations and the First Order and nearly dying and Rey being gone out there training and kiss him until their lips go numb. Because he’s sick of denying that pressing his chest against Finn’s and feeling their hearts beat is always on his mind. Because he wants him in every way one person can want another.

“You need a day out,” is what he says.

“A day out? We’re part of the Resistance! We have to destroy the First Order!” Finn is agitated already, but that’s okay. Poe thinks he looks cute like that.

“That’s the difference between us and the First Order, though,” he replies. “I bet they never stopped and let their stormtroopers have a picnic, did they? But we can.”

Finn shook his head, the beginning of a smile crossing his lips. “You’re too much, you know that?”

“Am I?” he says before he can shutter his cool demeanor back into place.

Finn furrows his brow. “No, it’s just an expression.”

“I knew that,” he replies, trying to regain his status as cool and unaffected Resistance fighter.

Finn bends down to examine the crate, but Poe puts a hand on his shoulder. “Wait,” he says. “We should wait until we get outside. I want it all to be a surprise.”

There must have been something in his tone that compelled Finn to stop, because he carefully removed his hand from the box and stood back up. “This isn’t some whim, is it?”

“You have a lot of questions for a stormtrooper.”

“Why do you think I quit the job?” says Finn. “You look ridiculous with those blankets around your neck, you know.”

Poe shrugs, making the blankets shift in their spot. “Are you going to help me with the crate or not?”

“Are you sure you don’t just want me for the easy labor?” teases Finn.

“Oh, I’m sure,” replies Poe, hefting the crate up with Finn’s help. While the two of them holding it makes it a little more awkward, it’s easier to carry than just having that huge thing in his arms. It’s not long before they’ve traversed the halls of the Resistance and emerged outside, where the trees are no longer just a pretty picture to glance at while doing more important things.

“So we’re going out there?” asks Finn.

“Do I detect a hint of nervousness?” is his reply. He glances over and meets Finn’s gaze, smiling until Finn returns the gesture. It’s a short moment, but it fills his chests with emotion.

“No,” is Finn’s eventual reply, bursting out too late.

They don’t talk for a few minutes, leaving the compound with the crate in their arms. Finn always forgets how nice it is to leave the base. The smell is the first thing he notices. It doesn’t smell like petrol and concrete and motor oil like the runway. The whiffs he catches are clean pine and the scent of the wind when it has been blowing uninterrupted for miles.

“This looks like it’ll do,” says Poe when they’ve walked far enough that his arms ache and the base is obscured by trees. Far enough to forget the war, but close enough that they could be reminded and ready in a moment’s notice. Not really forgetting the war then, he concedes to himself, but they can pretend they can.

They set the crate down and Poe unwraps the blankets from around his shoulders, shaking them out and setting them on the ground. They’re thin enough that you can feel the grass beneath them still, even on top of each other, which Poe likes. Not great blankets for the winter, but perfect for when you want to look past the trees and watch planes go by with a man you’re failing not to fall for.

Finn fists the grass next to the blanket as he sits down, little blades poking through the spaces in his fingers. “You couldn’t do this as a stormtrooper,” he says. “Never the time. Never had your gloves off. Were never on such good ground.”

“I’m sure there are a lot of good things about not being a stormtrooper anymore,” says Poe.

Finn’s eyes travel across his face, settling on meeting his eyes, a concerted effort. Poe is smart enough to know that there’s no reason for a stormtrooper to learn direct eye contact.

“Lots of things,” says Finn before finally looking away. Looking at the blades in Finn’s hand, Poe realizes he wouldn’t mind being blades of grass.

Poe opens the crate, pulling food out of it, package after package. There’s far too much for them to be able to eat it all, but Poe knew that when he packed it all. He wants Finn to have options. Some of the stuff in front of them is even homemade. Some of it Poe made, although he wouldn’t exactly call himself a good cook.

“You prepared all this?” asks Finn, wide-eyed.

“Yeah,” he says, hoping the reply is casual enough that Finn won’t notice his cheeks warming up. “I hope that’s okay. I figured stormtroopers don’t grow up with a lot of options when it comes to food.”

“It was all very nutritious,” says Finn.

“But did it taste good? Did you ever scrape the sides of your bowl because you wanted to eat more, not because you were hungry, but because it was simply that good?”

“You’re very passionate about food.”

“I’m a very passionate man,” says Poe. He smiles, a sheepish little grin that he can’t suppress when he looks at Finn.

“I can tell,” says Finn, meeting his own gaze only to flush and look away a moment later. “All this food is really for us? Won’t it be a waste?”

“I’m sending the rest of it back to the kitchens when we’re done with it,” he replies. “So help yourself.”

“Any of it…” Finn breathes. The look of wonder in his eyes makes Poe ache a little, wondering what kind of childhood this man had in comparison to his own. Finn is so damn eager for a taste of this food.

He watches Finn sit back on his heels and decide what to try first, eyes roving over the packages of food. He reaches in and snags a loaf of bread, thick brown with nuts, that Poe had asked a friend to make. Real bread baked in a real oven; in his opinion, nothing synthesized could compare. He knows that a lot of people couldn’t be picky growing up, though, so he keeps that opinion to himself when he thinks too much about how terrible survival rations taste to him.

The sun’s rays are piercing through the trees, keeping them warm and comfortable as they shift on the blankets, preparing for their feast. Finn glances up at the sky, thinking about how good it feels to be up there, on this planet or any other, hands on any controls as long as they’ll keep him in the air.

He fixes himself a sandwich from the various foods in the pile. Finn looks up from his bread with a hopeful stare, so Poe fixes him one too, handing it over cheerily.

They eat for a while, not saying much. Not in a bad way, though. Eating’s a serious business. When they finish their sandwiches they delve back into the crate, pulling out the best of the food and not hesitating to devour it.

When minutes have passed and there’s much less food available at their disposal, Finn looks up from his plate and smiles. That grin is like a sunflower, bright and happy, and maybe it’s a bad metaphor but Poe’s no poet, he only knows how Finn makes him feel and can only struggle to put those thoughts in order, hopefully enough to tell him how much this sunflower brightens his days.

“Why’d you do all this for me?”

“Because I like you,” he answers, wondering if that’s clear enough, overcome by the desire to grab Finn’s hand. His fingers twitch.

“I may have been raised a stormtrooper,” says Finn. “But I know the double meaning there.”

“Oh?” he says, his heart pounding, suddenly understanding that Finn is listening to him, hearing his words the way he wants him too when he tells him that he likes him, and all he needs to know now is how Finn feels about it. “What do you think I’m suggesting then?”

All the bravado seems to drain from Finn. Apparently he used it all for the one courageous sentence. Poe decides to reach a lifesaver out to the poor guy. It takes him a second to find one in his brain considering how flustered he is, but he does it.

“I’m saying exactly what you think I’m saying,” he replies. “Now what do you have to say about that?” Quite the tongue twister.

“I like you too, Poe,” are the words that finally force themselves out of Finn.

Poe’s smile is unquenchable. He leans across the blankets, knees pressing down against the blades of grass, pushing them down. He leans forward and hesitates, a last minute fear that Finn doesn’t really want this.

It’s Finn who bridges the gap. He presses his lips to Poe’s, reaching his hand up to bring a big palm to the side of Poe’s face. The kiss doesn’t last long, but that doesn’t matter, not when Finn’s thumb is running across the stubble on Poe’s jaw.

“Is this okay?” asks Finn.

Poe’s laugh bubbles out of him. “It’s more than okay, I promise. You just made me very happy, stormtrooper boy.”

“Oh,” says Finn, his own expression matching Poe’s. “Good.”

Poe pulls away after a quick second kiss and reaches into the crate, brandishing some wrapped cheesecake. “Dessert?”

Finn shifts closer, pressing his side to Poe’s. “That looks good.”

Poe would suggest feeding it to him, but Finn would probably burst from the idea, at least right now. Instead he leans against Finn in return and they eat cheesecake, legs brushing against each other as they talk. Poe can feel the grass under the blankets still, grass bowed under their weight as they sit there, together, with no plans to part any time soon.

 


End file.
